


Vertically Challenged Love

by liesel_fogel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, Request Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesel_fogel/pseuds/liesel_fogel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio is a ghost who haunts a run down, dirt cheap house and Lovino, being a poor student with nowhere else to stay, learns to live with his horrifying new roommate who turns out to be very affectionate. Commission for kiwiliko. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiwiliko.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kiwiliko.tumblr.com).



Lovino groaned, dropping his duffel bag with a thump. He glanced over his shoulder at the real estate worker, busying herself by taking out the picket marking the small estate as sold. She didn’t respond and he groaned louder, more obviously, to signify his annoyance.

Ignoring him, she straightened up, clapping her hands to shake the dirt off. “There!” she said, in a high, false voice. “Looks lovely.”

“It looks like a homeless man’s worst nightmare,” complained Lovino, waving his arms emphatically at the broken down building to express his anger and displeasure.

“It’s a simplistic one bed one bathroom home, like you paid for,” she told him with an air of annoyance.

“I did not pay for _this_ \- it’s a fucking rhombus!”

“It _is_ a bit..” she licked her lips, searching for the proper words. There was lipstick on her teeth. “..vertically challenged,” she concluded finally, folding her arms and peering at the dilapidated shack as if she could somehow force it upright through the power of her gaze. “But you bought it, so the deals done with. It’s yours.”

Lovino groaned again, running his hands through his hair. _“This_ is why it was so cheap,” he realized aloud.

“No, I told you,” said the real estate agent impatiently. “It’s because someone died here. Of non-natural causes.” She paused dramatically for a moment, waiting for Lovino to react, but he just continued to glare at her mercilessly.

“But also because of that,” she added quickly, pointing to the 45 degree angle between one slanted wall of the house and the ground.

“And that.” She pointed at the boarded up windows, graffitied with obscene words and tags.

“And that.” Her nails flashed over to the broken sink, filled with vomit so old it had congealed into a hard cake.

“And that.” The tarp replacing the door, flapping eerily in the wind. “And that- and that- and that-” she repeated over and over, finding an endless list of complaints and ailments about the tiny house.

“Fine, fine, got it,” snapped Lovino impatiently. He turned back to the house, sizing it up. As he stared at it warily, he heard the sound of a car door slam and he whipped around, just to see the real estate agent drive off, leaving him in a cloud of gas exhaust.

* * *

 

Lovino pushed past the tarp and stepped into the shack, groping the wall awkwardly until he found a light switch and turned it on.  Thankfully the place had electricity. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, the small blue screen illuminating his olive skin. 4:32, it read. His brother was supposed to come at 4:15 with the rest of his things. Irritated, he punched the familiar number into the keypad, but just as the phone began to ring he heard his brother’s voice from outside.

“Are you sure this is the right house?” he was asking.

“The address is right.” The second voice was low, gruff, and unfamiliar and Lovino poked his head out from the tarp to see who it was. At the sight of him his brother made a shrill cry and leapt forward, attempting to hug him through the tarp. Lovino squirmed, managing to shove him off. He stepped out from behind the tarp, the sunlight hitting his eyes painfully.

“It’s been, like, three hours since you last saw me,” he said irritably, as his brother kissed the air beside his cheeks.

“I know, but three hours is such a long time- there’s 60 minutes in one hour, so that’s 180 minutes, and 60 seconds in a minute, so thats 10800 seconds, which is a really long time, don’t you think? And-”

“Not long enough,” grumbled Lovino under his breath, but he pulled aside the tarp and made room for his brother and his large companion to walk in.

“Did you bring cleaning supplies? And a mattress?” he asked.

“Yeah, they’re in Ludwig’s car.”  
“Ludwig?” Lovino raised an eyebrow.

“That’s me,” grunted the man standing beside Feliciano, shifting his weight from ankle to ankle ever couple of seconds uncomfortably. “Nice to meet you.” He stuck out a thick hand. Lovino didn’t take it, just eyed him suspiciously.

“Are you sure it’s really safe to live here?” interrupted Feliciano, bustling about the tiny place.

“As long as I clean it, yeah.” Lovino glanced upward at the caved in ceiling doubtfully. A drop of water landed on his forehead, even though it wasn’t raining. “Probably.”

“No, not like that,” said his brother, kicking aside a heap of empty beer bottles. “Like, is it cursed or something? Or haunted? Or-”

“It’s nothing like that!”

“But someone died here, right? And the house number…” Feliciano trailed off, glancing over his shoulder towards the door.

“Just because the number is 666 does not mean I’ll be rooming with Satan,” explained Lovino wearily, having gone over this many times before.

“I know, but just in case,” said Feliciano, producing from his coat pocket a small metal flask. At first Lovino thought it was whisky or hard liquor, but then his younger brother proceeded to sprinkle it all over the tiny space and he realized it was holy water.

“Put that away,” he snapped, snatching the flask from his brother and corking it. “You’ll just turn the dirt into mud.”

“Okay, but take this.” Feliciano pressed a string of rosary beads into Lovino’s palm, but he flung them back at his brother.

“I don’t need this!” he said. “What I need is for you to get some bleach and Ajax and paper towels!”

“Fine, fine,” agreed Feliciano, downtrodden. “I’ll go get them.” He left and then returned moments later, arms full of soap and bleach and other such cleaning implements. He dumped them on the ground and Lovino squatted down, sorting through them.

“Try the sink,” he ordered his brother. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

* * *

 

It was almost two days before Lovino had somehow managed to clean the house to the point that it was suitable for living in. He didn’t really have any furniture except a mattress and a small, 1-foot high table he had made from a crate, surrounded by pillows to substitute chairs, so it hadn’t been too hard to bring them in. His brother had bought him a small fridge as a housewarming present, and that stupid Ludwig who always seemed to be hanging around him nowadays made him homemade sausage. Lovino complained that it tasted like sawdust, but secretly he liked it.

Once it had been cleaned up a bit, the house didn’t seem too bad. Sure, there was a strange musty smell and occasionally water would drip from the ceiling or cockroaches would come out of the tap instead of water, but Lovino figured he could manage.

The one thing that really bothered him was the drafts. Passing from one room to the next, he’d encounter a gust of cold air like a slap in the face, or even just sitting still, the cold air would wash over him like a wave and disappear. Three times he had complained to the real estate agent who had sold him the house, but it always went to voicemail. He couldn’t afford a heating guy to come in and look at the rusty old radiators, and so ended up piling blankets over himself and drinking tea constantly to stay warm.

Despite this, almost a week passed without much incident. Sometimes he’d leave things somewhere and they would show up, days later, in a completely different place, often in someplace totally incongruous, like the water tank of the toilet or in the fridge. Not being superstitious, he attributed this to fatigue, as he was working a physically demanding job from eight to five every day except Sundays, loading heavy boxes on and off trucks. He didn’t know what was in the boxes. He didn’t ask. They paid twelve dollars an hour, and that’s all he needed to know.

Yet there was one thing he just couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he wanted to. In the midst of the chain-link surrounded backyard, which was mainly just a small square of overgrown weeds that looked like they belonged in _The Day of the Triffids,_ was a small, well-kept vegetable patch. It was growing plump red tomatoes, and cucumbers and peppers, and though they looked juicy and free and delicious, Lovino forced himself to ignore them. According to the real estate agent, no one had lived in this house for over three years. But if that were true, then such well cared-for vegetables should not be surviving; nay, thriving; amongst such an unkempt yard. He examined them everyday, and in the mornings, the dirt was carefully clumped around the stalks and the soil was just damp enough that he could tell they had been watered not an hour ago, yet no one had come into the house or the yard.

Too busy to even allow himself to think about it for more than thirty minutes a day, Lovino managed to push this small mystery to the back of his mind and continued to live as quietly as he possibly could.

* * *

 

After a long day of loading and unloading heavy boxes from one truck to another in the blazing sun, one of which ticked in a most curious manner, Lovino was ready to take a cold shower and crash on his mattress. He was already shedding his sweaty, confining clothes the minute he closed the door and pulled the shades, dropping them on the floor as he walked to the shower, leaving a trail of wet garments behind him. He started up the shower, and for once the seemingly immortal centipede that lived in the drain didn’t come out to watch.

He swung open the mirrored medicine cabinet, snatching up his shampoo. When he closed it, hand leaving an imprint on the steam-plated metal, he thought he saw a face just behind his own and screamed, dropping the shampoo on his foot. The face vanished.

Shaking his head, telling himself he was just tired and probably dehydrated, he bent down and picked up the shampoo.

* * *

 

That night, just to be safe, he slept with the lights on.

* * *

 

He made himself coffee for breakfast, pouring a generous amount of milk in until it was a light brown. Exhausted, even though he had just woken up, he plopped three heaping spoonfuls of sugar in until it overflowed, then gulped it down quickly, feeling the caffeine rush through his body.

“I miss coffee,” came a voice from behind him and he jumped, dropping the mug. It smashed into shards on the floor, and he stooped down and grabbed the largest, most jagged one, holding it out like a knife.

“Who’s there?!” he barked, voice trembling. Slowly, afraid of what he might see, he turned around to see where the voice had come from.

“It’s just me,” said the voice. “Your roommate.”

“I don’t have a roommate,” said Lovino shakily. His heart was almost pounding out of his chest from fear, and he gripped the porcelain shard tighter, feeling it slice into his palm. Hot blood leaked out and ran down his wrist. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced himself to turn around slowly to where he had heard the voice. His foot collided with a shard, and it pierced the skin. He yelped, beginning to tumble down to the floor.

“Whoa, whoa,” the voice said unsteadily, and as Lovino braced himself for impact with the floor, something caught him. Bewildered, he slowly opened his eyes.

“You okay?” asked the voice, and he saw that it was attached to a face. It was a very handsome face, he had to admit, with dark tanned skin and wavy black curls framing his chiseled jawline. There was just the tiniest hint of stubble tracing his angular jaw, and his brilliant green eyes were framed with long eyelashes. A tentative smile graced his face.

“Uh,” Lovino managed to croak, before he passed out.

* * *

 

“Are you okay?” The same green eyes as before were now hovering just above his own. Lovino sat up with a jolt.

“I found some neosporin in bathroom,” explained the intruder. “And I couldn’t find any bandages, so I had to use toilet paper and tape, but you should be okay.”

“Who are you? And what the fuck are you doing in my house?!” questioned Lovino angrily.

The intruder paused, thinking, and then a bright white smile flashed across his face. “It’s not really your house,” he said, still grinning in that annoying, awful, beautiful way that made Lovino’s cheeks burn and his chest clench, “I live here too.”

“Well,” he paused, going back on his words, “‘Live’ is a bit of a stretch.”

“But the agent said no one had lived here in years,” muttered Lovino to himself, hand on his forehead distractedly.

“True.” The intruder smiled wide, nodding his head, thick black curls bouncing. “No one’s _lived_ here in years.” He grinned wider, emphasizing the word ‘lived’ to the point of comedicality, hinting heavily. He nudged Lovino’s shoulder, waiting for him to get it.

After a couple minutes of bated breath, the intruder sighed heavily, still smiling. “What I mean, is I’m not alive.”

“Not anymore you aren’t!” snarled Lovino, pulling his fist back and punching him square in the face- except his fist just swished through thin air, while the intruder’s face rippled slightly around the area where his fist was, but did not move.

Lovino shrieked, crawling backwards off his mattress, pressing himself against the wall. “S-Satan!” he managed to gasp, crossing himself.

The intruder merely laughed. “I’m not Satan,” he giggled. “I’m Antonio. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. I’m very happy to meet you, though I do apologize for startling you.” He stuck out his hand for Lovino to shake, but he just shrank back against the wall, desperate to get away from him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” said Antonio, the same playful smile still across his lips, and though Lovino wanted to refuse it, to get the hell out of there and call the police and maybe a priest, somehow he found himself reaching out tentatively. Antonio wrapped his hand in a firm handshake, shaking enthusiastically. Lovino’s arm jiggled limply in its socket and Antonio ceased shaking it, but did not let go. He scooted closer towards Lovino eagerly.

“You’re Lovino,” he said. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“It’s a stupid name.” Lovino surprised even himself, holding his free hand to his mouth.

“No,” said Antonio, hushed, almost scandalized. He moved even closer to Lovino, still clutching his hand. Lovino was too stunned to even pull away.

“It’s a beautiful name, for a beautiful person!” he gushed, green eyes sparkling. He squeezed Lovino’s hand momentarily. He gave a small, uncontrollable gasp, face flushing red, and forcefully pulled his hand out of Antonio’s own, holding it to his chest like a wounded animal. It still tingled pleasantly with the imprint of Antonio’s cool fingers.

“You’re stupid,” he decided, standing up shakily. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Then explain this!” Antonio pulled a funny face, leaning forward and sticking his arms straight out, hands clawed.

_“Booooo,”_ he wailed, getting to his feet slowly. _“Boooooo!”_ Lovino just rolled his eyes.

“I’ll give you an hour to pack your things,” he said. “Then you have to leave.”

“But I don’t have any things- I’m a ghost!” said Antonio, grabbing the blanket from the bed and pulling it over himself so that it covered him completely, like a cartoon halloween ghost. He made more _boo_ ing noises, advancing slowly towards Lovino.

“This is getting really old! There’s no such thing as ghosts!” yelled Lovino, reaching forward and pulling the blanket off Antonio. He paused, dropping the blanket. There was nothing underneath, just empty space.

“The fuck?” he said aloud. Suddenly cold hands covered his eyes from behind.

“Guess who?” came Antonio’s voice in his ear.

Lovino groaned aloud, pulling the hands from his eyes and whirling around, but there was no one there. Brow furrowing in confusion, he stared at the spot where Antonio _should_ be, seeing only cracked plaster wall.

An icy finger tapped him on the shoulder and he whipped around, but like before, there was no one there. Then came a poke on the back of his head and he looked over his shoulder, but as always, there was just air. He felt hands on his waist from behind; then a single digit tracing down his curved spine, making him shiver; then another hand teasing his earlobe; another tracing his lips and another sliding down his back, whirling him this way and that way, touching him all over until it seemed that there wasn’t a spot on his body that was not being poked, prodded, tickled, or caressed by hands of ice.

“E-Enough!” he managed to gasp, teeth chattering. “I get it! You’re a ghost!” Instantly, the hands left him and he dropped to the floor on his knees, panting, hugging himself. Antonio appeared in front of him, giggling.

“You got it!” he grinned. “I’m a ghost!” He sat down on the floor in front of Lovino as well, crossing his legs.

“So, you see,” he continued. “I _can’t_ leave, even if I wanted to.”

“What about exorcism?” panted Lovino.

“Ooh, I don’t know,” Antonio held a hand to his mouth, a shocked expression across his kindly face. “I certainly hope not. I don’t want to leave you when we’ve just met!”

“Yeah, well, _I_ want you to leave.”

“That’s not very nice, Lovi,” pouted Antonio. “Lovi!” he brightened. “What a cute nickname! Can I call you Lovi? I’m gonna call you Lovi.”

“You may not.” said Lovino stiffly, crossing his arms.

“Aww, c’mon, Lovi,” chuckled Antonio, reaching forward and ruffling Lovino’s hair, only to be smacked away. “It suits you perfectly! A cute person such as yourself should always have a cute nickname!”

“I am not _cute,”_ snarled Lovino. “I am a- a ferocious manbeast!”

“Naww, you’re a cutie-wootie-shmooshie-floofy!” Antonio appeared beside Lovino, throwing an arm around him and tossing him off balance, so that he fell sideways on top of him.

Lovino shoved him off angrily, face red. “I am _not!"_

“Are too!” Antonio poked his cheek playfully. “You’re a.. a..” he searched for the words, and then grinned mischieviously. “You’re a hottie biscotti!” He was cut off promptly as Lovino punched him in the face.

He toppled backwards dramatically, sticking his arms out and lying in a fake dead pose.

“So I _can_ hit you,” mused Lovino, staring at his fist.

“I’m dead!” wailed Antonio. “You killed me!”

“You’re already dead!” snapped Lovino.

“But I’m even deader now!”

“Stop being such a pussbaby and get up! I’m late for work!”

“What, leaving so soon? We’ve only just met!” Antonio forced himself upright.

“Yeah, well, sucks for you,” said Lovino distractedly, pulling on his coat.

“When will you come back?”

“Five,” he said, and slammed the door in Antonio’s face.

* * *

 

“Welcome home, honey,” simpered Antonio, as Lovino walked in and dropped his coat on the floor, stepping out of his his shoes.

“I’m not your honey,” he muttered, too tired to be angry, and collapsed face-down on the mattress. Antonio kneeled beside him.

“You okay?” he asked. Lovino mumbled something incomprehensible, voice muffled by the mattress.

“I made you dinner,” said Antonio, shaking his shoulder. Lovino lifted his head slightly, just enough so that his voice was audible.

“Food?” he said, in a weak voice.

“Yeah,” cajoled Antonio, now massaging his back. “Pasta. And tomatoes from the garden.” His slid his hands up Lovino’s shirt, kneading under his shoulder blades. Lovino gave a little moan in response, too tired to even protest.

“Why don’t you come eat?”

“Don’ wanna get up,” mumbled Lovino, body rocking in movement to Antonio’s hands. Though they were cold, they seemed somehow to send heat through him, all the tension in his body melting to be replaced with something else; something foreign.

“Yeah, me neither,” agreed Antonio. “But you should at least eat something.”

“But then I’d have to move!” complained Lovino, arching his back under Antonio’s fingers.

“How are you so good at massages?” he complained. “Like, what the fuck?”

“I have the magic fingers.” Antonio waggled his eyebrows impressively, grinning. Lovino twisted his head around to look at him.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” he said.

Antonio chuckled. “I know,” he said, beaming. “C’mon.” He grabbed Lovino’s hand and yanked him upright. “Go eat your dinner.”

* * *

 

Hair still wet, water droplets dripping down his back and dampening his shirt, Lovino climbed onto his mattress, pulling the blankets around himself like a burrito. He had barely even turned off the lights when he fell fast asleep.

* * *

 

He woke in the middle of the night. Something cold was behind him, pressing against his skin. He rolled over.

Antonio was in bed next to him.

“W-What the fuck are you doing?!” he yelled, and Antonio opened one luminous green eye.

“You’re warm,” he explained calmly, as if it were obvious. “And I’m cold.”

“That’s not my fault you’re cold- get out!”

“But I wanna cuddle!” Antonio squeezed Lovino around the middle, giggling. “I mean, I really like you, and when I like someone, I always just wanna cuddle!” He nuzzled Lovino’s neck affectionately, and then, without warning, briefly pressed his lips to the delicate slope of neck that lead to Lovino’s shoulder.

“Whoa, your whole body just got really hot all of a sudden!” enthused Antonio, draping an arm casually over Lovino. “Could it be that I made you.. flustered?” he chuckled, lips brushing against Lovino’s ear.

“No!” spat Lovino, elbowing him in the stomach. “Get off! You’re cold!”

“Aww,” complained Antonio, but backed off reluctantly. “But you’re so warm, and if I touch you enough, perhaps I might become warm too, and then we can generate our own heat source and save on the electricity bills and power cars and solve global warming!”

“That’s not how global warming works!” snapped Lovino, pulling the blanket over his head angrily. “Let me sleep,” he said huffily, voice muffled by the blanket.

“Fine, fine. I don’t sleep anyways. But I wish I could! I miss my afternoon siestas, or just dozing off randomly throughout the day. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend to sleep, but I can’t and it makes me very sad.”

“Shut _up!”_ grumbled Lovino throwing his pillow at Antonio but it just whipped through him and bounced off the wall.

“Missed me,” chuckled Antonio.

“Shush.” Lovino pulled the blankets tighter around himself, just the tips of his toes poking out from under the blanket-burrito.

“Sleep tight,” said Antonio. And then, so light he could hardly tell if it was his imagination or not, Lovino thought he felt a ghostly pair of lips kiss his cheek just as he drifted off to sleep.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

"Why is the ghost always the bad guy?" complained Antonio, attempting to throw popcorn into his mouth, but it just went through him and landed on the couch.

"Because," said Lovino simply, picking up the piece of popcorn that had fallen through his friend and tossing it into his mouth. "They just are."

"That's racist! Or- or-" Antonio struggled to find the word, "Ghost-ist."

"Ghost-ist isn't a word," snapped Lovino, throwing a popcorn kernel at Antonio. It bounced off his head. Through days of painstaking research (especially for Antonio), Lovino had found that objects, or blows from a well-placed punch, only landed successfully if Antonio wasn't expecting it. Otherwise, he would just be able to change his composition to that of one resembling smoke or water vapour and objects would merely pass through him.

"Yeah, well, English isn't my first language."

"It isn't mine either, and I still know that 'ghost-ist' isn't a word."

"But we're not all that bad! I mean, there's the odd meanie-poo here and there, but overall we're soft and cuddly!"

"Shut up and watch the movie." Lovino nudged Antonio's shoulder and he nudged him back, harder than before.

"Oh, it is  _on,"_ giggled Lovino, setting the popcorn bowl on the floor and knocking against Antonio, who retaliated, even harder, causing them both to lose their balance. He tumbled down on top of Lovino, but was kicked away angrily within seconds.

"I know, I know, boundaries," grumbled Antonio, raising his hands defensively. "It's just that I like to cuddle, and I haven't been able to cuddle or touch anyone for a long time, and you look so cute and shmooshy that sometimes it's hard to restrain myself, you know?"

"No, I don't, because I'm not a cuddle fiend!"

Antonio laughed. "Cuddle fiend?"

"Yes. A cuddle fiend," said Lovino crossly, hoisting his legs up onto the couch and hugging a pillow tightly, his chin perched on top so that he could see the screen.

"Cuddle fiend," contemplated Antonio. "That's actually pretty good. I like that. Yeah," he decided, grinning at his newfound nickname, "I'm a cuddle fiend!"

"It's not supposed to be a compliment, dammit!" growled Lovino.

"Maybe you're just jealous of my superior cuddling skills."

"Wha-  _jealous?_ I am not jealous! If anything, I feel pity for you, because  _I_ am the better cuddler." Lovino straightened up, squaring his shoulders and rolling up his sleeves as if preparing for a fight.

Antonio chortled. "As if!"

"Oh, you wanna go?" said Lovino defensively, raising his fists.

"Yeah!"

"You wanna  _fuckin' go?!"_

"Hell yeah!" Antonio dove onto him without warning, knocking them both over. Lovino squeaked in surprise, but soon adjusted, even allowing him to place his arms around thin waist.

"You're cold," complained Lovino, but his face and ears were red.

"I'm sorry," apologized Antonio. "My temperature will adjust soon, I promise."

"It better," grumbled Lovino, eyes fixed on the screen. The heroine, and only person left alive, was running through the hallways of the abandoned building, chased by a faceless ghost with knives for legs. It seemed to pop up through doors and walls just when the heroine thought she was safe, and so often that it wasn't even scary anymore. The only scary thing was the unnatural size of the heroine's breasts, which jiggled and swayed as she ran.

Lovino reached down and grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl, now placed on the floor. "When do you think she'll die?" he pondered, voice distorted from the mass of kernels in his mouth.

"Ooh, I hope she doesn't," said Antonio, shivering. "It'd be a horrible ending, for her to die and let the ghost kill more people."

"I dunno," said Lovino thickly, chewing loudly. "I kinda want her to just die already. Her scream's annoying."

As he said this, the heroine leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. Her humongous bosom heaved up and down, and wobbled dangerously to the point of breaking free of her string bikini. As the camera zoomed in, there was a loud, sudden chord played in the background music, and a knife tore through the wall, into her chest, and out the other side, pinning her to the wall as she screamed sensually, tomato juice spraying everywhere.

Antonio and Lovino both screamed at the jumpscare, grabbing onto each other desperately. The moment ended, and the heroine collapsed on the floor. Though it was over, Antonio was still screaming into Lovino's ear, eyes squeezed shut.

Lovino sat up and hit him with a pillow. "Shut up!" he yelled, and Antonio complied, opening his eyes reluctantly.

"Is it over?" he asked meekly.

"Yes," he affirmed, annoyed. "It's over."

"Oh. Good." Antonio pulled Lovino back down, tightened his grip around his waist. "That was  _scary!"_ he enthused, giggling slightly.

"You're a ghost!" grumbled Lovino. "How can you find ghost movies scary?"

"Because they  _are!_ And I'm a cuddle fiend, like you said, not a murder fiend!" Antonio blew a raspberry on the side of Lovino's neck and he shrieked with laughter, kicking out wildly.

"You know what else I am?" smirked Antonio, tickling under Lovino's armpits. "A  _tickle fiend!"_

Lovino tried to swear at Antonio through his giggling, but couldn't, rendered helpless under his cold fingers. He struggled desperately, and only succeeded in falling off the couch, bringing Antonio down with him.

He lay flat on his back, eyes shut from the collision. The tickling had stopped, but he was still laughing faintly as he opened his eyes, just to see Antonio, right above him.

"Uh…" the remnants of his smile faded as he looked to his left, then right, and saw two hands on either side of his shoulders, his own arms and legs splayed out wildly. A hot, churning feeling began in his stomach and quickly spread to the rest of his body, and something in his chest tightened, as if his heart were constricted by invisible bonds.

Antonio grinned lopsidedly, and his heart leapt into his throat. He could hardly breathe, let alone move, as he saw out of the corner of his eye Antonio's hand lift slightly, and slide towards him.

Antonio adjusted his weight to the other hand, and then without warning, began to tickle under Lovino's exposed arm. Again, Lovino began to laugh, his legs seizing up, and, still laughing uncontrollably, kicked Antonio off of him. He slammed against the opposite wall and Lovino quickly sat up, crawling over to him on his hands and knees.

"Antonio?" he said desperately, smile fading. "Antonio? Are you okay?"

"Of course!" Antonio lifted his head, beaming up at him. Lovino fell back on his knees, beginning to laugh in relief, causing Antonio to also break out into laughter, as if it were some kind of infectious disease. Somehow, once they started, they couldn't stop, and clutched at each other, laughing endlessly until neither of them could breathe. Even then, they stayed, holding one another tightly as if the other might disappear.

* * *

Lovino woke the next morning, slumped against the wall. Where Antonio had been, cradling his head, was now a pillow, and his arms, draped comfortingly around him, were replaced with a blanket. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, then decided he liked the safety and comfort of Antonio's arms better.

There was a clanking from the kitchen, and Antonio stuck his head around the corner, holding a frying pan in one hand.

"I made breakfast!" he said. There was flour in his hair and all down his shirt.

Lovino groaned and slid down the wall until he was lying down, then used his legs to propel him, on his back, into the kitchen. "What'd you make?" he asked wearily.

Antonio looked around at the sound of his voice, confused. "Where are you?" he asked. "Lovi?"

"Down here." Antonio directed his gaze to the floor and grinned as his eyes met Lovino's.

"Good morning!" he beamed, crouching down to Lovino's level. "How are you?"

Lovino gave an exasperated, elongated sigh as his answer, closing his eyes. Antonio nodded in agreement.

"I feel that," he said, and ruffled his hair before standing back up. "I made pancakes for you. You should eat them while they're hot."

"Thanks." Lovino muttered, forcing himself to his feet and pulling out a chair. He held one out on a fork. "Don't you want some?"

"Can't eat," said Antonio somberly, and sat across from Lovino, watching enviously as he ate.

"That sucks," said Lovino thickly through a mouthful of pancake. "It's good," he told Antonio, waving his fork at him to emphasize his statement.

"Really? Great!" Antonio beamed at Lovino, causing him to glower at him with wide hamster cheeks full of pancakes, which only served to make his whole expression humorous and laughable.

"You're adorable," he mused, poking Lovino's nose. He spat crumbs of pancake at him in revenge, but they just fell through him and onto the floor.

"You're gonna have to clean that up, you know," warned Antonio, nodding towards the wet bits of chewed pancake on the linoleum. Lovino swallowed.

"Not now," he said, getting up, hesitating, then stuffing one last pancake into his mouth. "I'll be late."

"Have a good day at work!" Antonio waved him off. Lovino raised his middle finger as he slammed the door shut behind him.

* * *

"How was work?" asked Antonio as the door slammed open, rattling the entire house. Dust fell from the ceiling and onto the tip of Antonio's nose. He sneezed it off.

"Sorry," he apologized, rubbing his nose. He opened his eyes. "Aren't you going to say bless you?"

"No point in blessing you, is there?" said Lovino wearily, bending over to grab a soda from the minifridge.

"Hm?" Antonio blinked, sitting crosslegged on the couch. "Why's that?"

"I mean, you're already dead, right? And it doesn't seem like you-" Lovino pointed at Antonio with the soda can, "are going to heaven anytime soon."

"I suppose so," contemplated Antonio, tilting his head to the side, watching Lovino intently as he plopped down on his mattress. His calves and forearms were streaked with dirt.

"You probably shouldn't open that soda after you've been jiggling it around so much," warned Antonio, a faint smile on his lips.

"Huh? Why?" asked Lovino, absentmindedly flipping the tab up and opening the can. There was a pop, and then streams of soda fizz and bubbles splurted out the top, running down his hand and forearm and dripping on his legs, the mattress, the floor. He cried out in surprise and quickly attempted to down the can as it overflowed, bubbles flowing from his mouth and down his cheeks, off his chin, streaming down his neck and wetting his shirt.

"Swallow," advised Antonio, hiding his grin behind a hand as Lovino's cheeks filled with soda. He desperately tried to gulp it all down, but still some leaked out of his already-full mouth. Finally, he tipped the can upside down and finished it off, pulling away and gasping for air.

"Smooth," laughed Antonio, leaning forward to see Lovino's angered expression better.

"Shut up," growled Lovino, crumpling the can in his fist and throwing it at Antonio, who dodged it.

"So? How was work?" asked Antonio again as Lovino gathered up the wet bedsheets.

"Fine," responded Lovino curtly.

"Aw, are you mad at me for laughing at you?"

"No," snapped Lovino, refusing to make eye contact with Antonio.

"You are." Antonio leapt off the couch and strode over to Lovino. "I'm sorry," he apologized, hugging Lovino from behind, startling him and causing him to drop the bedsheets he had been holding.

"H-Hey!" he snapped, reaching down to pick it up, but was thwarted as Antonio squeezed tighter, preventing him from moving.

"You're all wet," he whispered, the hairs on the back of Lovino's neck prickling.

"So?" Lovino tried to sound defiant, yet he couldn't hide the little quiver in his voice.

"So, maybe you should take off your shirt." Antonio's cold lips brushed against Lovino's ear and he shuddered at the sensation, a wave of hot pleasure traveling from his head to his toes, invigorating him.

"..And take a shower, dirty!" finished Antonio, laughing. He freed Lovino from his arms and stepped back, clapping him on the shoulder jovially. "See, you're all sticky!" He licked his finger and ran it down the side of Lovino's neck, creating a clean streak in the brown sticky soda residue to demonstrate. Lovino shivered, placing a hand over the spot, feeling his face flush.

"Fine," he said, hoping Antonio couldn't hear the disappointment in his voice. "I'll go shower."


	3. Chapter 3

Lovino had been living with his ghostly roommate for over a month without much incident when, on a Friday afternoon, as he walked from the bus stop at the end of the block to his slumped-over shack of a house, he was greeted instantly with the piercing sound of his fire alarm, mixed with the syrupy voice of Snoop Dogg playing on loudspeaker. The two front-facing windows were clouded with smoke, and as Lovino raced to the front door, he heard his elderly neighbor, who was standing beside her small mop-like dog as it shat on his disheveled front lawn, mutter under her breath, 'disgraceful.'

" _Antonio!"_ he bellowed, throwing open the door. A cloud of smoke billowed into his face, and coughing, he waved it away. Snoop Dogg was even louder now that the door was open, but underneath the crooning tones of _drop it like its hot, drop it like its hot,_ he vaguely heard Antonio's voice say,

"Oh, hey!"

"The fuck is going on?!" he choked, eyes watering. "Are you okay? Did something catch fire?"

"No, no, I'm fine! I mean, I'm already dead. And this isn't smoke from fire."

"Huh?" The smoke cleared and Lovino opened his eyes. Antonio was levitating, sitting cross-legged and floating about two feet off the ground. Sitting around him in a circle was a remarkably pale man with hair like straw who was smoking from a green glass bong and a blond, tanned, fashionably dressed man drinking red wine from a glass, nodding along to the music.

"Sure, Beyonce is the better singer, but Nicki writes better lyrics," the pale one was saying to the blond one, while Antonio floated serenely, not paying attention to any of them.

"What the- no. No. This is not happening." Lovino rubbed his temples, head starting to ache. "Out," he commanded, pointing behind him at the open door. "All of you. Out!"

They paused speaking for a moment to stare at Lovino, then, ignoring him, returned to their conversation.

Seething with anger, Lovino seized the boombox next to the pale one and with a yell, forcefully threw it onto the ground with a crash. He stepped on it several times, crushing it under his worn sneaker. The music paused, then broke off. Snoop Dogg's voice faded to a tinny whisper, then disappeared completely. Though the pale and the blond men had since ceased to talk completely and were now gaping at Lovino with wide, shocked eyes, Lovino didn't stop his tirade until the boombox was reduced to a pile of crushed metal.

Breathing heavily, Lovino finally looked up and said, in a quiet voice trembling with anger, "Out."

* * *

 

It was an odd scene: two men holding desperately onto a doorway while a very angry Italian beat them with a broomstick, despite the best attempts of the semi-transparent man holding onto his waist from behind to pull him away.

"It was just a little weed!" complained the pale one, his beanie falling off in the commotion.

"Can I at least get the rest of my wine before I leave?" pleaded the blond one before getting hit in the face with the end of a broomstick.

"No! It's shitty French wine anyway, I'm doing you a favor," growled Lovino, struggling against Antonio's grip.

"C'mon, Lovi, they didn't mean any harm," insisted Antonio.

"I do now!" yelled the blond one in a thick French accent. "You take that back about French wine or I'll- I'll hit you!"

"I, the amazing Gilbert, will help!" announced the pale one proudly before receiving a jab in his stomach from the broomstick.

"Gilbert, no!" warned Antonio.

"Gilbert _yes!"_ Gilbert successfully managed to land a kick on Lovino's ankle as the blond cheered. Lovino howled in anger and abandoned the broomstick, aiming for Gilbert but mistakenly punching the blond squarely in the face.

He stumbled backwards, clutching his nose as blood gushed from it, soaking his white shirt. "My nose!" he gasped. "My beautiful nose!"

"Francis, you okay?" called Antonio from behind Lovino.

"This shirt cost seventy-three dollars!" wailed Francis. "It's fucking Marc Jacobs- you're paying for that!"

"Yeah!" agreed Gilbert. "And for my boombox!"

"I'm not paying for shit- you're the ones who broke into my house!" Lovino yelled, struggling against Antonio.

"We didn't break in, he let us in!" Still holding his nose, Francis pointed with his free hand at Antonio.

"You did _what?!"_ Lovino wheeled around to face Antonio, who backed away with his hands in the air.

"They- they're my friends!" whimpered Antonio. "They hadn't come to see me for ages, and when they showed up, I couldn't _not_ let them in!"

"Yes, you could! It's my house, you should have at least asked!"

"It was my house first!"

"And now it's mine! I paid for it, it's mine!"

"But I also live here!"

"You don't live here- you don't live anywhere, you're fucking _dead!_ And it's not like I wanted you here anyway! You're just this fucking annoying ghost who I can't get rid of so I have to put up with! That's _it!"_

"Shit," muttered Gilbert, who had long since abandoned the fight to watch Lovino and Antonio's exchange. "That's harsh."

Even Francis had ceased his indignant proclamations about the price of his shirt and how his beauty was forever ruined and was now sitting on the front lawn where he had first fell, watching, the blood still gushing freely from his nose.

Lovino stood, fists clenched, breathing heavily. Antonio, who always, even in his ghostly state, seemed full of life, was slowly wilting, as if the remaining life in him was being drained. He shimmered, composition translucent, and his face looked crumpled, resigned.

"Fine," he said. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone now."

"Good." Lovino said it fiercely, his eyes like fire, but anyone could see that he was trembling.

"That's what you want?" Even Antonio's voice seemed dimmed, and he was so transparent that the marks on the wall behind him were visible.

"It's what I want more than anything," affirmed Lovino, and Antonio disappeared completely.

* * *

 

Gilbert stood on the doorstep, slack with shock. "Holy shit," he mouthed, but no sound came out. He turned around to see if Francis was having the same reaction, or if this was all just some weird high from the pot, but his friend was staring at the spot where Antonio had just been, mouth gaping comically wide.

"What?" demanded Lovino, whirling around to face them. "What're you looking at?"

"N- Nothing," muttered Gilbert, stepping down from the doorstep and into the yard.

"We'll, er, be going now," Francis excused himself, standing up shakily and taking a step backwards. "Sorry for the trouble."

The two of them backed out of the yard, stared down by Lovino until finally, they reached the sidewalk, turned, and bolted down the block.

* * *

 

Still irritated but slightly cooled off, Lovino made himself a cup of coffee, pouring a generous amount of cream into it and dropping not one, but two sugar cubes into the mixture with a plop.

"I get it," he said loudly to the empty house. "You're mad, so you're playing invisible to get me to apologize. Well, I don't break that easily. You might as well just stay that way forever."

The house, being only a house and nothing more, was silent.

* * *

 

That evening was uneventful. Lovino cooked a meal for himself, just simple fettuccine with mushrooms and asparagus, and grated parmesan on top. Mistakenly he placed dishes for two on the table, but in the end left the extra plate on the table in case Antonio did decide to return. He had gotten in the habit of doing that while Antonio was there- though he couldn't eat, having a place for him at the table felt more natural, and made him seem more human, more real than just a wisp, the memory of a passed human.

"I suppose, since you're not here, I can shower with the bathroom door open," Lovino announced to the walls, and even brushed away the line of salt he had placed around the bathroom ages ago to prevent Antonio from creeping on him, though Antonio never did in the first place.

He placed the extra pillow- Antonio's pillow- in the closet, and for once, the tiny mattress seemed too large without the familiar presence of his ghostly partner. Antonio usually liked to cuddle, a self-proclaimed big spoon, and without his strong arms around his waist or his quiet, cool kisses on his cheek, neck, and back like moth's wings, Lovino had a hard time falling asleep, despite his exhaustion. Even once he finally fell into slumber, he woke frequently and tossed and turned without Antonio there to anchor him down.

* * *

 

Three days passed.

"You really are stubborn," remarked Lovino to the empty plate on the table across from him, sipping his morning coffee. "You always seemed so wishy-washy to me, but I suppose you really can do things if you put your mind to it."

As always, there was no answer.

Lovino sighed, placing his empty cup on the table. "Your plants will die soon if you don't water them," he said. "I won't do it for you, so you'd better hurry up and come back."

Lovino held his breath, but the house remained silent.

"Fine," he said, hands clenched around his cup, eye twitching. "Stay gone. See if I care."

As he ran to catch the bus, something wet flowed from his eyes and down his cheeks. It was rain, Lovino told himself, but the skies were clear and blue.

* * *

 

"There's got to be something I can do to get him back," mused Lovino, sitting cross-legged on the beaten sofa, hugging a pillow solemnly. Twelve days had passed, and his anger had since dissipated into irritation, more at Antonio's departure than the original cause of his anger- which, Lovino reflected, was really rather silly and inane in the first place- which in turn became loneliness, the predicament he was facing now as a movie he had rented but had no interest in without Antonio there to laugh at it with flickered across the television screen.

He had tried apologizing, albeit to empty air. He had tried yelling, and kicking the walls, but it only led to him spending hours fixing the dents. He had screamed, he had cried, he had broken plates and bowls and then gone to the dollar store and bought more, only to break those. He had prayed, he had lit candles and recited chants in Latin from a strange site on the internet, he had pricked his finger and drawn symbols in blood.

Staring blankly at the TV screen but not watching it, Lovino fingered the gold cross hanging around his neck. He had gone against his beliefs as a Christian- a Catholic, no less- and drawn pentagrams and chanted and did all sorts of things that made no sense, and still, _still,_ Antonio hadn't returned. What more could he do? What more did Antonio want from him?

* * *

 

Three months passed.

Lovino lay on his mattress, staring at a crack in the ceiling. He had lost his job two days before, because he stopped going. After all, what if Antonio came back, and he wasn't there? He'd just leave again, thought Lovino, and so he had stayed, day after day, ignoring the ringing phone and the bills piling up, staring. Waiting.

His stomach growled with neglect, but he ignored it. Trash and dirt and grime built up, but he ignored it. The phone rang, people knocked on his door, stuck bills and bills and more bills through the mail slot, and he ignored them too.

It was funny, he thought, how he had only spent a month living with Antonio, but it was enough to affect him months later after he left. It was funny, how he had finally found someone he could call a friend, someone he'd be willing to spend his life with, but as always, he had been mistaken. Antonio had left, like his mother, like his grandfather, like his brother.

Was it his fate, to always chase people away? To be so insecure, so desperate that the only way he could comfortably interact with others was by insulting them, berating them, abusing them until they invariably left? Was Antonio just another checkmark on the long list of people he had scared off in his lifetime? Was he destined to always be alone?

"I'm sorry," he said, to the crack in the ceiling, but it could not reply.

"I'm sorry," he said, to the spider building a web in the corner, where ceiling met wall, but it could not reply.

"I'm sorry," he said, to the overflowing ashtray beside him, for he had since taken up smoking in his loneliness, but it could not reply.

"I'm sorry," he said to Antonio, but he was not there, and could not reply.

* * *

 

With trembling hands, Lovino clicked the lighter once, twice, three times until a flame shot up. He held it to the end of his cigarette and, leaning against the back alley wall, took a large draw, holding the smoke in. The nicotine hit his brain almost instantly, and he closed his eyes in satisfaction as the feeling of release spread over him.

"Vargas!" someone yelled, and he choked, almost dropping his cigarette in surprise.

"What?!" he snapped.

"Break's over. Get back to work," commanded his boss, poking his head out the back door and into the alleyway.

"But I just lit my cigarette!" complained Lovino, blowing smoke out his nostrils.

"It's a full house and Jamal isn't here tonight, I need you waiting table seven."

"Ugh." Lovino rolled his eyes and took one long, last, desperate draw from his cigarette, then dropped it to the concrete and ground it with the heel of his boot. "Fine. Be there in a minute."

His boss retracted his head back into the restaurant, and the door slammed shut behind him. Lovino followed, but paused, his hand on the door handle, staring at his reflection in the fogged-up window.

It had been almost eight months now, since his altercation with Antonio, and he had yet to return. Eventually bills, loans, and mortgage payments, as well as need for hospitalization, had forced him out of his catatonic, depressive state. During that time, he had lost over twenty pounds in both body weight and muscle, and even now, months later, he was still fighting to regain what he had lost.

He had a job now, as a waiter in a semi-decent Italian restaurant, and he ran every day to stave off the feelings of loneliness and inadequacy that had crept up on him during Antonio's absence. Still, despite these changes, he always placed an extra plate at the table for Antonio and slept with his pillow on the bed, as if he might return at any moment. He watered Antonio's plants every morning, and had even planted some new ones in the little spare time he had: cucumbers and carrots and romaine lettuce, among others. He still, however, hadn't managed to quit smoking.

"Vargas!" his boss yelled again, and with a sigh, Lovino pushed the door open and stepped into the light of the restaurant.

* * *

 

It was a good night in terms of tips- he had even been given a twenty-dollar bill by an old woman- and two separate people had left their phone numbers for him, which he placed in his apron pocket with the rest of the phone numbers and personal notes. It was not a rare occurrence, for someone to leave him their number; in fact, it happened almost regularly. His boss had even told him in confidence that the number of regular patrons had increased since Lovino had begun working there, and he also received the most tips out of the other waiters. It was probably for this reason that the other waiters and waitresses resented him, and so Lovino generally tried to avoid interaction with the rest of the staff, going straight home as soon as his shift was done instead of hanging around or going to a bar together like the others did.

Lovino yawned, approaching his home, keys jingling in his hand. He was ready for a hot shower, maybe a glass of red wine, and a good long sleep, but as he closed the door behind him and latched it shut, he heard a voice from behind him and froze.

"You're back!" the voice said, oddly cheery. "You were out really late- I thought your job ended at five, but its already half past ten- did you go out or something?"

Lovino's breath caught in his throat and slowly, tentatively, he turned around.

Antonio was sitting on the couch, smiling serenely. He looked exactly the same as the day he had left, and for a moment Lovino wondered if he _hadn't_ left, if this was all in his head, some horrible eight-month long nightmare.

"A- Antonio?" he gasped incredulously, the cigarette falling from his mouth and onto the floor. He dropped his bag with a thump, falling back against the door as his legs gave out in surprise.

"Well, _duh,_ silly!" Antonio cocked his head, brows furrowing slightly. "You smoke? Since when do you smoke? I was only gone for, like, two days! Anyway, I've been thinking about it, and you were right. I'm sorry, I should have asked before I let them in."

"Is it… is it really you? You're... back?" Lovino clutched at his chest, head swimming. He felt himself slide down the door, legs folding beneath him.

"Of course it's me, who else would it be?" Antonio paused. "What's- what's going on? Did something happen? Are you okay? You're not still mad, are you? Because I'm sorry."

"I…" Lovino couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. "I…"

"Lovi?" There was a cool hand on his shoulder, and he looked up. Antonio was crouching in front of him, a concerned expression on his face.

"Oh god," he breathed, reaching a trembling hand up to cup Antonio's cheek. It was the same as always- soft, chilled to the touch, with a hint of prickly stubble, a five-o'clock shadow along his defined jawline.

"It really _is_ you."

"Uh," was all Antonio was able to say, distracted by Lovino's hand on his cheek, thumb rubbing in circles against his skin. "Lovi?"

"I- I missed you." Lovino bit his lip, jaw trembling slightly. His eyes were shining oddly, and wet. Taking Antonio by surprise, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, burying his face in his shoulder. "I missed you so _fucking_ much."

"Wow," enthused Antonio, a bit shaken. He batted Lovino's back awkwardly, feeling the smaller man's heaving sobs against his chest. "You must really like me, to have missed me so much after only two days."

Lovino froze. Slowly he lifted his head and pulled away to face Antonio. "What did you say?" he asked slowly, voice quivering, not bothering to wipe away the tears stagnant on his flushed cheeks.

"I- I said, 'you must really like me,?'" Antonio's smile faltered.

"After that." Impatiently Lovino rubbed his eyes and face until they were dry.

"'You missed me a lot after just two days?'"

There was a pause, where both of them stared at each other- Lovino with a sort of silent, tight-lipped anger, and Antonio visibly confused and startled.

Finally Lovino broke the silence.

'"...'Two days?' Just _two fucking days?!_ Try eight months, you bastard!" With a cry of rage, Lovino shoved Antonio off of him and rose shakily to his feet, towering over him.

"E- Eight months?" whispered Antonio, crawling backwards on his hands and feet as Lovino advanced towards him.

"Eight. Fucking. Months."

"Oops?" tried Antonio, flashing what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

"'Oops?' Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Lovino's hands, clenched into fists at his sides, began to tremble. "' _Oops?!'"_

"But I don't- I don't understand!" cried Antonio, leaning back on one arm, his other hand running through his hair distractedly. "I only spent two days in purgatory, I'm sure of it!"

"Purgatory?" asked Lovino, momentarily distracted from his anger. "You went to purgatory?"

"Yeah- I can either be a ghost, or go to purgatory. Purgatory is really boring though, so I became a ghost. When you got mad, I went to purgatory, figuring after a while we'd both cool down and could talk it out, but I never thought that- that _this_ would happen!"

Antonio sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "Fuck," he moaned. "I'm really sorry, Lovi. I fucked up."

"Damn straight you did!"

"You're not, uh- you're not… mad, right?" One corner of Antonio's mouth twitched upwards. "I mean, it was a- a mistake!"

"Oh, no, of _course_ I'm not mad! I totally understand- it's such an easy mistake to make, to vanish into a separate dimension for _eight goddamn months!"_

"But you're not, er, mad, right?"

"Are you crazy?! _OF COURSE I'M FUCKING MAD!"_ thundered Lovino, advancing slowly towards Antonio. "You disappeared without saying anything- you _abandoned_ me- just like everyone else! I thought-" Lovino jabbed his chest with his thumb, eyes brimming, "I thought we were _friends,_ that you were different, that we had something special! And then you were gone, just like _that-"_ he snapped his fingers- "the moment shit got rocky, and then eight months later, you come waltzing back in pretending like it's all okay?! After what you put me through?!"

"I'm sorry- you're right, I shouldn't have left, I-"

"I don't want to hear it!" Lovino snapped, turning briskly on his heel and marching towards the door.

"Then what _do_ you want?"

"I want you to leave!"

Antonio blinked. "Huh?"

"I _said,_ I want you to leave! I'm going out. By the time I'm back, you better be back in hell or purgatory or wherever the fuck you were."

"B- But I just got here! This whole time you've been complaining about how I left, and now you want me to leave again?!"

" _Yes!"_ Lovino's voice quivered, even as he yelled the word.

"But _why?!"_

"Because- because-" His hand, clenched around the doorknob, began to tremble; and though the room was dark, and Lovino was facing away, Antonio was able to see tears like pearls in the moonlight drip from his chin and nose and land on the floorboards.

"Because if you stay, I'll forgive you! I'll even start to l-like you again! And then- and then-" He took several unsteady breaths that caught in his throat and choked him. "And then you'll leave again! And I can't handle that, not again- I'll die!"

"Lovi…" Antonio reached out a hand, but Lovino, as if he knew what he was doing despite facing the other way, quickly snapped,

"Don't," and Antonio's hand faltered in mid-air, then fell to his lap.

"I'm sorry."

"You bastard, I told you not to say tha-" Lovino's protest was cut off as Antonio embraced him quickly from behind, startling him.

"Oi- get off!" complained Lovino, struggling futilely against Antonio. "Let me go!"

"I'm sorry, Lovi," sobbed Antonio, clutching Lovino tightly. "I'm so sorry- I never meant for any of this to happen, really!"

Something warm -tears, not his own- dripped onto Lovino's shoulder, and despite his anger, he felt himself calming, muscles relaxing as he leaned into Antonio. He felt so solid, so real despite his inhumanly coldness it was hard to believe he was a ghost, a mere apparition.

"You're crying," Lovino realized. "Why are _you_ crying? You're the one that left."

"B-But I didn't mean to!" cried Antonio, shaking his head back and forth. "Believe me, Lovi, I'd never do something like that on purpose! You're my best friend!"

"But you did anyway, regardless of whether you meant to or not! We can't just pretend the past eight months didn't happen!"

"I'm not saying they didn't happen, I'm saying I don't want them to happen again! I'm not leaving. I'm not."

"But-"

"I'd do anything to make it up to you. Anything you want. But I won't leave."

There was a pause, and for a moment Antonio worried he had said the wrong thing.

Then, slowly, Lovino's body relaxed and leaned against Antonio.

" _Anything?"_ he enunciated, and his teeth shone in the dark as a smile stretched across his face.

* * *

 

"When I said anything, I didn't expect _this!"_ wailed Antonio, stretched out on his back, floating about three feet in the air.

"No touching me, sleeping with or next to me, or complaining for the next three weeks. Plus you cook for me and clean the house. I think that's fair, don't you?" said Lovino absentmindedly, toweling his hair dry. He had confined Antonio to the couch area via a ring of salt while he showered, and hadn't bothered to erase it since.

"Come _on,_ lemme out!" Antonio whined. He slammed his fists against the invisible barrier around him set by the salt desperately. From Lovino's perspective, it looked as if he were hitting nothing but air, like a mime. "Didn't you miss me?"

"Of _course_ I missed you- while you were _gone!_ Now you're back, and you're just an annoying roommate again!"

"You don't mean that," pouted Antonio, sticking his lower lip out. He righted himself, moving into an upright sitting position, his legs crossed. "You missed me. Didn't'cha? Didn't'cha?" Staying in his sitting position, he rotated roughly 180 degrees so that he was hanging upside down.

" _Didn't'cha?"_ teased Antonio, pulling a funny face.

"So what if I did?!" snapped Lovino, throwing a pillow at Antonio. It fell short, and landed in the middle of the salt ring, breaking the barrier. "Fuck," he muttered, but Antonio had already disappeared from the spot he was floating seconds ago and reappeared, arms around Lovino's neck, whirling them both around.

"S- Settle down!" commanded Lovino. "I'm getting dizzy."

Antonio grinned, his feet lightly settling on the ground. "Because," he poked Lovino's nose, "It means that you like me. That I'm not just 'your annoying roommate.'"

"I do _not!"_ protested Lovino, his ears glowing red.

"You do, you do!" Antonio taunted. "You _liiiike_ me. You _liiiike_ me."

"E- Even if I did, so what? It doesn't matter anyway," insisted Lovino, looking away. He was acutely aware that Antonio's arms were still around his neck, elbows resting on his shoulders as if they were dancing.

"Yes, it does!" argued Antonio. "Because I like you too! And that makes us friends- more than roommates. _Friends!"_

He leaned in, voice shrinking to a whisper. "And you know what friends do together?" He winked.

"What?" Lovino tried to keep his voice steady, despite the fact that now their faces were mere inches apart, despite the fact that Antonio had fucking _winked_ at him just now- or was that his imagination?- he couldn't be sure, but whether he had or hadn't, his heart was practically beating out of his chest at this point.

"Make friendship bracelets!" cried Antonio, releasing Lovino and clapping his hands together in excitement. "Oh man, I've always wanted to make friendship bracelets with you- I think green would suit you, what do you think? Or red- maybe yellow? Gosh, I'm so excited!" He bounced up and down in circles around Lovino.

Lovino groaned, dropping to the floor, and crawled to his mattress, grabbing one end of the blanket before rolling to the other side of the mattress so that the blanket wrapped itself around him like a burrito.

"Turn off the lights, will you?" he commanded. "And be quiet."

"What's wrong?" Antonio sank down to the mattress, laying beside him and propping his head up on one arm. "You don't like green?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just want to sleep!" Lovino snapped. "Turn off the lights!"

"Fine, fine." There was a click and the room became completely black. In the darkness, Lovino could sense a chill all along his back and neck and knew that Antonio was lying beside him.

"Antonio."

"Y- Yes?"

"I thought I said no sleeping together for three weeks."

"I'm not, I'm, uh, on the couch!"

"I can feel you right here!" Lovino whirled around, but in a flash, Antonio relocated himself to a foot or so above the couch.

"See?" he said, a little shakily. "I'm on the couch."

Lovino sighed, rolled back over. "Forget it," he muttered.

"Huh?"

"I said forget it. C'mon, get over here." He patted the space next to him on the mattress.

"B- But you said-"

"Just come on!" Before he had even finished the sentence, Antonio reappeared next to him, hugging him tightly around the middle.

"N-Not so tight!" gasped Lovino, struggling for air.

"Sorry," apologized Antonio, and loosened his grip. "I'm just so happy- I missed you so much!"

Lovino scoffed. "You were only gone for two days! I spent eight months without you!"

"I'm sorry," Antonio apologized again, guilt prominent in his voice.

"It's fine. Well, it's not. It's not fine. But you're back now, that's what matters."

"Yeah." There was a rustle, and Antonio scooted closer to Lovino. "It's good to be back." He pressed his lips briefly against the nape of Lovino's neck.

"Do it properly." Lovino surprised even himself.

"Huh?"

"If you're going to kiss me, do it properly."

"I…"

Lovino rolled over, placed a hand on Antonio's jaw. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had pressed his lips against Antonio's.

Antonio gave a little yelp of surprise, eyes wide open, but the sound was muffled by Lovino's lips. His mouth fell slack, and Lovino's tongue moved in.

The lights in the house began flickering, blinking on and off. The TV and radio turned on, flying through channels, the sound of static and full volume blaring through the tiny house. Chairs and tables levitated, pictures in their picture frames shook against the walls and clattered to the floor. Cups and plates emerged from their cabinets and flew around the kitchen like white doves.

Then finally, _finally,_ Lovino pulled away. He licked his lips.

For a split second, as Antonio stared wondrously into his eyes, everything in the house stood still. The cups and plates paused in their tirade, the radio and TV settled on a channel, the chairs and tables hovered peacefully. Then he blinked, and everything crashed to the ground, the tiny house shaking in its foundation.

Lovino yawned, grinned, and rolled over, pulling the blanket back over him. "You're cleaning that up in the morning," he muttered, already half asleep.


End file.
